


Look Back and See Me

by keiotic



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiotic/pseuds/keiotic
Summary: From back then to where we are now, let me tell you darling; it has always been us.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I need to let off some steam. I probably won’t be updating so soon until I need another outlet to let my feelings out. Rest assured I will be back.  
> -unedited (will look over one day)

 

 

 

 

It was already cold when he decided to step outside of his apartment building.

 

With shuddering breaths and shaky hands, he walked in a semi-frantic pace towards the nearest convenience store; bent on having instant noodles for dinner.

The automatic doors slid open once his converse-clad feet touched the thick carpet, the air conditioning inside hitting him full blast and momentarily confusing his own skin in feeling brief warmth.

Shivering twice as hard now, he tucks his chin into his chest to warm his neck, long strides taking him to the back where the noodles were all stacked.

He takes his hand out of his jean pocket to reach for two chicken-flavored cups, four of his fingers splaying wide enough to accommodate the items.

With a frost-tinged exhale he makes his way back to the front of the store where the gum-chewing cashier slumped over the register.

While he waited for his items to be checked-out, he glanced around the store. There weren’t that many people milling about, to be expected since it was nearing midnight. There was an old soul reading a newspaper to his farthest left, cup of ground coffee in front of him presumably cold as it no longer had a tiny fog above it. There were two high school students giggling over the cover of a magazine by the reading racks; a kid sipping a smoothie while his mom was busy emptying variations of baked goods in their little basket.

“That would be 8.50.”

Jongin brought his attention back to his front, nodding at the cashier as he took out two five dollar bills. He handed it to him, at the same time his other hand gripped the handle of the plastic bag containing his purchases. He’s given his change and then he’s turning around, walking back to where he had come in.

The sliding doors part for him and the warmer chill from outside welcomes him back.

With a sigh, he walks back to his apartment, steps heavy and sluggish.

From the few minutes he spent inside the store the wind grew a little colder, the tips of his ears numbing now from where it incessantly swishes past. Tongue dragging past his chapped lower lip he heaves another exhale, shrinking lower into himself as he lengthens his strides to arrive faster and escape the cold.

 

The building’s front entrance is still as cold as he remembers; hallway lights turned on in every floor the only thing making it look warm enough to be livable.

From where he’s standing he could see the elevator just about to close, and so he sprints a little and hits the button indicating ‘up’ once he gets there.

The elevator _dings_ and re-opens its metal doors, Jongin looking up with his feet poised to move forward when what he sees inside steels him in place.

There, leaning back on the small elevator’s walls, is a guy with short hair and doe eyes. They widen at him in surprise when he just stands there, gaping. The guy fixes his stance as the milliseconds tick by and he’s still frozen in front of him, unable to move as everything rushes back to hit him like a bullet train.

He lifts his free hand up to point at him in disbelief, mouth finally moving to form words besides a permanent ‘a’.

“Kyung—“

But he never gets to finish that sentence as the elevator doors close just in time for him to get the first syllable out, the guy from the other side never given the chance to respond.

Winded and still in shock, Jongin inhales in disbelief, head tilting back to look at the number sprawled above the old elevator.

It says ‘4’, and he commits it to memory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 1**

 

As Jongin fixes his tie in front of the bathroom mirror, the events from last night continue replaying in his mind.

Images of a doe-eyed boy wearing circular glasses accompany the memory from last night, and his heart clenches.

With one last tug on the shorter end of his tie the knot is secured, leaning over to his side after to grab his briefcase from the floor. He looks at his reflection one last time and sees a boy in a high school uniform with soft brown hair and a kind smile, a shorter boy next to him with an arm wrapped around his then skinny shoulders.

He pinches his eyes shut and turns away.

 

 

His day ends relatively the same as it always does; with him exhausted from sorting and filing papers, writing reports and engaging in mind-numbing conversations with people he hardly even cares about.

Sometimes, at rare occurrences like today, he asks himself why he even chose to be an accountant when this clearly wasn’t the field he was passionate about. He thought of dancing, how he had loved it and considered pursuing it as a profession once upon a delirious time. He chuckles to himself now, wary feet dragging him back to the direction of his apartment building as his thoughts do a little turn back to when he had dreams.

His sixteen year old self was young and foolish. He thought the world was a stage he deserved to perform in. His chuckles turn bitter. _Yeah right._

After countless rejections and never-ending failures he decided to stop. He got the hint, universe; you can stop now. It did—he stopped failing at everything when he stopped chasing his dreams. With a brain that could decipher mathematical enigmas he pursued a degree in accounting and dropped performing arts altogether. When his pockets began to fill his heart began to empty out.

Shaking his head to rid of the worst of his memories he walks past the front entrance, eyes blank as people rush in and out after him. He reaches the elevator again, still feeling a little hollow as he steps inside once it opens.

His mind is swimming in the darkest of places right now, some events of his life he’d rather not relive playing through his memories like some torturous slideshow. The one memory currently on repeat as he stands there in the elevator is both his favorite and most hated, tugging at his heartstrings and causing tears to prick in his eyes.

It’s of him and his then best friend, Kyungsoo, messing around with the musical instruments in the music room.

He was holding in his hand some flute he had picked up, blowing air through it and making wheezy noises instead of music. This causes Kyungsoo to snort and hit him upside the head with sheet music. They’re both chuckling even as the sheet music scatters behind them; the blow Kyungsoo delivered to his head careless, grip loose.

Kyungsoo had bent down; picking the music sheets back up meticulously and arranging them back to how they had been before they all ended up on the floor. He was unhelpful then too; opting to watch his friend do all the work as he sat back and twirled drumsticks in his right hand. The chuckles died down the more Kyungsoo studied the papers he had picked up.

Eventually, he sat down on the padded chair behind the piano, eyes glinting as he caught his attention.

“Hey, Jongin. This looks promising.”

He shoved the single, unfinished sheet into his drumstick-occupied hands. With his lips pursed in playful annoyance he set the drumsticks back down and studied the paper intently.

“Oh. Yeah, this looks good, Soo.”

With a grin Kyungsoo had snatched the papers back, cheeks bunched up in elation at his agreement. Setting the paper over the top of the piano, he stretched his fingers. And he began to play.

It was…mesmerizing. The melody was soft yet forceful; every tap of the piano keys purposefully put there for an emotional impact.

And when he opened his mouth to sing—lyrics pouring out of him like water cascading down a high cliff—it became nothing short of magical.

He had promised him the world and the moon that afternoon without even intending to; so captivated by the performance that he hadn’t even noticed that he had risen from his seat. He stood up and twirled, limbs moving and twisting in a way that matched the song’s flow.

What they were doing felt too intense for a couple of naïve sixteen year olds, and it showed in the dilemma that followed afterwards.

He should have never promised him what wasn’t his to give.

 

He’s brought back to reality when the elevator doors _ding_ open, and he’s both surprised and not to find his cheeks wet and his eyes over spilling with tears.

Rubbing his tears away he’s about to step out when he notices this isn’t his floor and that he had ended back down on the lobby. With a shaky sigh and a silent sniffle he back tracks and punches the button for floor number 8.

He’s alone in the elevator, the ticking watch on his wrist telling him he’s spent quite some time absorbed in his thoughts again. Internally berating himself, he reaches up with the hand not holding his brief case to rub at his temples.

He needed to get his shit together, damn it. He was a twenty-five year old, grown ass man who most definitely _should not_ be crying about the past so much. He’s living in the present, and should focus solely on that.

He takes deep breaths on the ride all the way up, steeling himself into adult composure. He almost succeeds, almost leaves the sulking and confusing feelings for another day when the ride stops on floor number 4.

His heart stops the moment the door opens and reveals the guy who looks so much like the one in his battered memories.

 

 

The stranger steps in without regarding Jongin’s presence at all, black earphones plugged in, messenger bag slung haphazardly beside him.

The door closes and the elevator continues its journey upwards. The person beside him has his hands tucked into his black slacks, gaze someplace else from where Jongin is staring at his reflection through the shiny metal doors.

His hair is cut short, even shorter than the ridiculous bowl cut he donned when they were in high school. He retained the slightly rounded tip of his button nose though, and the small pouch of fat around his cheeks. He was as adorable as he remembered him to be. He’s probably still even the same height, now barely coming up to his shoulders from the one or two inches he had against him all those years ago.

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in his chest he intends to walk out of the elevator once it stops on his floor without looking back. But it seems like fate had something else planned for him when the elevator stops halfway through floor number 7—the confined area briefly going dark before the emergency lights switch on.

With an exasperated groan and a short curse to the heavens he slumps his tired body sideways against the metallic panel. The shorter man next to him, just barely noticing what had happened, takes his earphones out with two delicate tugs.

 

Frowning, as Jongin catches in his reflection, the other turns to his left to address him.

“Power’s out?” The man says, voice lower and smoother than what he had stashed in his unreliable memory. He closes his eyes briefly before throwing him a side glance and a polite smile.

“Yup. We’ll probably be here for a while.”

“Oh shoot.” The other responds, brows furrowing as his lips purse. “The automatic locks might disable—I left my laptop in there.”

Jongin doesn’t know what’s happening or why this supposed stranger is talking to him, but he keeps the conversation going nonetheless.

“I don’t think you’ll be robbed; the guys down on the first floor are our first line of defense.”

At this he chuckles, deep and rumbling that pools warmth in the middle of his chest and drip down the pits of his stomach. The butterflies in there awaken and flutter about, making it hard for him to breathe.

 

The other doesn’t say anything anymore after that, the silence stretching on for a while. Jongin decides to break it by attempting his own round of small talk, crossing his fingers behind him like a child that he doesn’t fuck this up.

 

“So how’s life for you, Soo?”

 

_Fuck._

 

The nickname slips out just like that, old rusty—itching to get used. Jongin cringes into himself and doesn’t dare glance at the man beside him.

To his utter surprise the movement the other makes is a scratch on his nape, eyebrows pushed high in slight embarrassment. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Thought you would have forgotten.”

 

At this Jongin spins to face him, eyes wide. “I would never.”

 

Kyungsoo chuckles, eyes curving into little half moons. “It’s nice to see you again, Jongin.”


End file.
